Facade
by Quebec-Russia
Summary: Mireille Milenkovic is a 23 year-old maiden who has found a job at Arkham Asylum as their Chief Surgeon. Despite the numerous and better opportunities that she is presented with, she is devout on staying at the Madhouse. Why is that? Could it have to do with her co-workers, or perhaps patients? Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow/OC. And add a dash of Joker into the pot. M for future chapters
1. Chapter 1: The Gala

Chapter 1: The Gala

I felt my body tremble in both excitement and fear. This predicament was new for me; I was surrounded by the wealthy and significant people of Gotham. Their eyes seemed to bore at the back of my head, waiting for me to slip up so that they could banish me from their social realm. Every glance I received had an inevitable score or rating behind it. They themselves had already met requirements in the tight knight cluster. I had been standing by myself for approximately two minutes, yet I felt myself crave the comforting approval of my date. That's right, I was asked to partake in this high stress fiasco. And, I agreed!

Despite the fact that the high and mighty of Gotham acted as if they owned the place, I had a good reason to be here. Arkham Asylum was raising money for the medical department and as a doctor; I was to parade around and discuss the topic of how the money would be spent in hopes of a donation from some of Gotham's philanthropists.

I haven't been a doctor for long though. I finished my internship four months ago and joined Arkham's staff due to my former, and current, bosses recommendation. I was invited to this event for two reasons: to keep my date in check, and to raise money. My superiors figured that I could calm down my boss and his know-it-all attitude. His previous efforts at fundraising events had led to fewer donations, and more retribution. He held all the facts and I translated them into words the populous of Gotham would understand. It was fun, being in charge of my boss.

I deeply respect him though. He was, after all, the man who granted me permission to intern at Arkham in the first place. A brilliant man who discreetly displayed his affection for me… that is, until he strait out asked me out on the first week of my employment as chief doctor at Arkham. At least he was subtle; he cornered me in the elevator and pressed the emergency stop button thinking I wouldn't respond right away. Instead he received a swift reply, but had to wait for an hour while the janitor tinkered with the elevator to open the ancient doors. I was very grateful he waited for my two yearlong internship to end beforehand, lest he spoil my reputation as a respectable young lady.

We have been "dating" for the past few months, neither of us wishing to put a label on our relationship just yet. He was a very refined man; the most we'd shared were passionate kisses and a few gentle caresses, nothing too bold. He had ventured off into the sea of flesh and satin to get some champagne to fuel us for the long evening that lay before us. My date was not the only man maneuvering though the crowd. I watched as a well-kempt man faultlessly joined in on conversations, making a bee-line for my location. He was beat to the punch though.

A long, slender finger prodded my shoulder, turning to see my savior I reached for the flute of champagne I was offered and held the glass in a light grip, scared that I may shatter the crystal if I held it too securely. My date held his own glass effortlessly, giving me a smirk as I struggled with where my hands should be placed. He corrected my grip on the flute and let out a soft chuckle at my beet-red face.

"Thank you doctor," I paused, he hated it when I used his title outside of work. He raised a slender brow while I corrected myself, "Sorry, thanks Jonathan."

"My pleasure Mireille," he responded, his eyebrows returning to their proper position. As I took a sip of champagne to sooth my tense nerves I noticed that once more, Jonathan was undressing me with his eyes.

As opposed to my usual long-sleeved turtlenecks and skirts, tonight I went all out on my appearance. My hair was free to roam my shoulders and brim my face, released from its usual confines of a French braid. I donned a sleeveless, tight, long dress. The satin clung to my slender form and left little to the imagination. It was a darker shade of purple with black accents. I wore heels to increase my height from 5'1" to 5'5". Despite this, I still looked like a child compared to my tall date. His arm discreetly snaked around my waist and rested on my opposite hip. I placed my glove covered hand over his and looked into his light crystal blue eyes.

Dr. Crane was not a very expressive man at times; however, I could always understand what he felt by looking at his eyes. Like so many others, I find eyes to be windows to the soul. Whenever he was focused on a problem in his work, the light blue in his eyes seemed to become icy and hard, but now… his eyes were tender and glimmering like pools of trepid water. His usually tense brow had relaxed as he granted himself permission to just enjoy the moment.

The sound of a man clearing his throat broke me from my trance. Jonathan nonchalantly retreated his arm, his fingertips gently brushing against my back as he did so. Jonathan's face became serious, as did my own. For before us lay the main event in our opinion. Bruce Wayne.

This may have been a date, but we were still here on a matter of business. The playboy philanthropist before us held the money necessary to restore Arkham Asylum's medical wing to its former glory with a mere swipe of the pen.

My mind lost all sense of control as I held an internal conflict. Part of me wanting to curtsy, one telling me to extend my hand palm down, and the final piece recommending I kiss his cheeks. I settled for stunned silence. Thankfully my partner in crime had my back.

"Bruce Wayne," he started, extending his hand. "It has been a while." Mr. Wayne took the proffered hand and gave what I can assume to be a firm shake. I can only assume this by the way Jonathan winced slightly and flexed it when released.

"Dr. Crane," Bruce replied. "It is good to see you again." Without letting Jonathan return the comment, he turned to me. "And who, may I ask, are you?" He asked, his eyes reflecting the light of a nearby chandelier… blue as well, but they seemed darker and rather… mysterios.

"Dr. Milenkovic." I replied to his inquiry. His hand extended before me, palm up. I placed my right hand in its designated space lightly and allowed him to raise my hand a few inches and lean down to kiss it, his eyes locked on mine all the while. A light blush began to form on my cheeks. He was indeed charming, that rumor was correct.

"French?" he asked, referring to the slight lilt of my accent.

"Yes, I'm still working on ridding myself of the accent," I commented, embarrassed to be found out so quickly. I fiddled with a strand of hair and tucked it behind my ear, needing to keep occupied so I wouldn't stare.

"Don't," he smirked, "I find it very attractive." Bruce winked at my pink dusted cheeks, "and I trust you have a first name." he said with a hint of humor.

"Mireille," I offered up for critique.

"Mireille," he tried, pronouncing it 'my'ray rather than 'me'ray. I smiled at his difficulties and heard him introduce himself. "My name is Bruce Wayne."

"It's a pleasure to meet you monsieur Wayne." I nearly smacked myself, I quickly looked to the floor in hopes of him not seeing my embarrassed face. He chuckled at the French and then gave me a quick once over.

"It's Bruce," he continued his inspection of me. "Aren't you a tad young to be a doctor?"

"I'm 23 if you must know," I joked at his obvious curiosity in my age hoping to expel my former shame. "And my father is actually a doctor employed at your company."

"I thought that name sounded familiar," Bruce noted. "Anyhow, what business have you here?"

Jonathan, happy to once again partake in the conversation, gave his promotional speech. I clarified the more scientific bits every now and then. The basic purpose of the money would be to update the equipment in both the laboratory and the medical wing. The improved chemicals and modern ways of treating patients could promise a faster recovery, quicker releases, thus lower taxes, and hopefully a healthier future. All in all, it was a success. Mr. Wayne was eager to donate to the cause. He then introduced us to other groups, underlying the message for them to donate as well.

Jonathan and I had covered all of the large donors so we took a well-deserved break. Our flutes of champagne were empty and on their way to the kitchen. The Gala consisted of several rooms at the Hotel that was hosting the event. There was a dining hall, dance room and the 'mingling' area which was where all the donations and small talk was made. The orchestra was playing in the room next door and Jonathan and I ventured over, desiring to be alone with each other at least once tonight. A slow waltz was playing when we arrived. He guided me to the dance floor and bowed as he offered his hand. I took it and allowed him to pull me closer, I rested a hand on his shoulder and looked up at him as he placed a hand tentatively on my waist, his face slightly flushed due to the alcohol. The remaining hands were clasped together as we slowly swayed to the music. He gave me one of his rare genuine smiles and gave me a little twirl. I giggled lightly and smiled back up at him. We soon resumed our steps and I glanced up occasionally only to see Jonathan always looking back at me with those serene eyes.

A few minutes later, Jonathan's eyes began to roam the room and I watched them as they darted and halted when he singled someone out and began to glare. I turned to see the target of his hatred and saw Bruce Wayne. He was currently flirting with a model of sorts, I would guess Russian since I heard he was currently on a bit of a 'Russian model' streak Supposedly 10 within the month. I raised the hand that lay on Jonathan's shoulder to his cheek, my fingers running down the jawbone. He looked at me and his face began to soften at the caress. I mouthed to him, "Let me know when he is looking." Jonathan smirked and nodded, joining in on the diabolical plan.

I replaced my hand on his shoulder and blushed madly as our eyes locked together then, unsure how he would take the rather provocative plan I had set up. The blue orbs zipped away and back rapidly, full of uncertainty. His grip on my waist tightened for a second. I considered this a go sign for Bruce's attention. Removing my hand from Jonathan's grip, I wrapped my arms around his neck. He did the same to my waist with a slight air of uncertainty. As I stood on my toes he began to crane his neck downward, already used to the action prior to kissing me. The whole one foot difference was a bit of a bother at times. Our lips met and to better improve Jonathan's confidence in the situation, I reduced the space between us to a mere centimeter. The chaste kiss turned into a series of less innocent kisses, one of which involved Jonathan biting at my upper lip. After catching my breath I rested my head on his chest. I breathed in the scent of straw and giggled at the idea of the well-kempt Dr. Crane on a farm. He rested his head on my crown and inhaled through his nose.

"You look beautiful tonight," he commented, a hand rose from my waist to play with my brown tresses. I giggled at his cliché compliment.

"And you sir," I started, poking him in the chest. "Smell like straw." His face collapsed and I stifled a laugh when I saw his shocked expression. I pulled him down a few inches and commented, "I like it."

Jonathan grinned and kissed me with haste. I tightened my grip on his neck so he couldn't stop. Then I felt a wet muscle prod my lower lip. I was shocked at first but I found it interesting that he was the one introducing French kissing as it originated from my country. We had yet to try it and I believe his willingness to prompt the act was based on the amount of alcohol he had consumed tonight. Jonathan was a reserved man, as I mentioned before, so instigating this passionate act in the presence of a multitude of strangers was also probably to be blamed on the alcohol.

I opened my mouth and let him take his time to adapt to the new sensation. As expected, he tasted strongly of alcohol, but also a more… appetizing taste to say the least, a mixture of nutmeg and cinnamon. As things began to heat up I desired a tad more privacy so I tugged playfully at his tie. Getting the message, he followed me out of the room, allowing himself to be towed. I smirked at Bruce's shocked expression.

As we traveled the halls together, we came across an unlocked door. Curiosity getting the better of me, I opened the door fully to reveal a concert hall. On the stage that lay before us was a grand piano curtains drawn up and hundreds of chairs perfectly set to encompass the instrument. I took a step forward to observe the surroundings better when a sound of surprise escaped my lips. "Eek!"

Jonathan had lifted me into his arms bridal style and proceeded to run to the stage's raised platform on his long narrow legs. I giggled at his drug induced loopy and affectionate state. He sat on the piano bench and placed me on his lap so that I was straddling his waist. It was one of those rare occasions where our heads were on equal planes. I planned to take full advantage of the incident.

I started out by tenderly kissing his lips. As he applied more and more pressure I found my fingers entwined in his hair, the digits reveling in the soft feel of the dark ginger locks. His own hands rested on my hips to hold me in place, his thumbs gently stroking my waist in small tight circles.

He prodded his tongue against my lips, asking permission to enter again. I opened my mouth slightly and nipped at his tongue playfully allowing it inside as I ventured into his own. As Jonathan began to understand the ropes, he moved his hands to my back, pressing us flush to one another. He opened his mouth to receive much needed oxygen before continuing his conquest. I couldn't get enough of that mesmerizing taste, winding my fingers in his hair as I ran my tongue over the roof of his mouth and reveled in the small grunts of pleasure he made. When both of us needed a break, Jonathan leaned back and began to stroke my cheek. I smiled at the movement and pressed our foreheads together. Our breaths intermingled, our lips mere centimeters apart as we regained our breath, the heat radiating off our cheeks warmed us up. I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him lightly, my head in the crook of his neck as I took in a small whiff of his cologne, my eyes fluttering shut out of sheer pleasure.

Jonathan's fingers had resumed their gentle ministrations on my lower back. I didn't want this moment to end, but time will not stand still for anyone. I sensed his discomfort at my weight and kissing the pale neck that lay before me, I stood up thinking we were going to leave, when Jonathan turned his body so he would face the instrument. I watched him in silence.

Fingers reached before him, he placed the long digits on the piano's keys, and began to play.

Jonathan told me he knew how to play the piano a while back. I had assumed he just meant he could play a tune or two not a whole symphony. The song he played now was beautiful. His fingers did not trip; they pressed the keys fluidly, and without hesitation. The music was slightly haunting; his eyes focused on the keys. I drew back on memories of my father listening to classical music in his study and recalled this one. "Moonlight Sonata" I mouthed. Not wanting to interrupt him.

I draped my arms over his shoulders; I took in a deep breath and allowed myself to be swept away by the music. When Jonathan finished the piece I watched as his hands retreated and were placed back on his trousers. I was so grateful to Jonathan. Our work at the asylum was so strange and scary, yet I felt so safe with him. He took away all my fears.

"Thank You," I said to him, unsure how else to convey all the emotions I felt for him.

(A/N): I will update after 5 heartfelt reviews, they keep me GOIN~. So please no flames, I'm kinda new to the batverse so just some pointers or suggestions or rather large nudges are fine. no full on BLARG would be nice. If anyone is yelling "MARY SUE!" please remember this is the first chapter of about 8 or so for this section of the tale, so character development will happen. Also, my grandmother became a Surgeon at the age of 19 so HA! it is sooo possible. I am currently working on the next chapter so as soon as i get those reviews i can post it within a few days. THANK YOU!


	2. Chapter 2: Case of the Cooler

Chapter 2:

(A/N: Cooler is a synonym for Solitary Confinement… or at least it is in the movie The Great Escape)

The following day was a normal one at Arkham Asylum. A few patients had managed to stab each other with plastic spoons. Thankfully, though, the wounds weren't lethal. They each needed a few stitches in both the epidermal and muscle layer. They would now recuperate in solitary where they could do nobody else harm.

Solitary confinement was considered the worst of punishments at Arkham, worse than being spoon fed by the orderlies, and far worse than a simple straitjacket. When the inmates returned from the cold room, they were not unscathed. They spoke of unimaginable horrors they experienced in isolation. On the upside, the cooler didn't have many repeat customers. The patients straightened up their act after a sentence there.

On my walks through Arkham's halls, I came across Dr. Crane more than once. Obviously embarrassed by his actions yesterday night, he would stutter an apology and then run off to a nameless patient in need of assistance or claim he was already late for an appointment and was in a rush.

I decided to clear up this misinterpretation during his lunch break; he had his own plans though. According to the secretary, he had gone out for a spell. Disheartened by his absence, I returned to my ward and began giving some of the patients their monthly check-ups. This involved asking questions about how they felt physically, if they were feeling ill in any way, or if they just wanted someone to confess to who would keep their conversation a secret. After all, doctor patient confidentiality is of utmost importance here in Arkham for the sake of our patients. It is frowned upon to use knowledge gained in these halls to profit from a "tell-all book". And even if I wished to, I couldn't. The only way I could disclose information to anyone was if the law demanded it, and who ever would ask the physician for information when there are psychiatrists roaming the halls and taking note of every twitch the patients make?

Most often during these scheduled appointments I would hear stories from the patients, some just wanting to get me to shiver, others were scared and seeked comfort. And they knew I could provide that as long as they remained docile.

My current patient, a Trejo, Marcy, was telling me about the nonexistent burns that covered her arms; she claimed she covered them so nobody could see. She rolled up her sleeves to reveal the unmarked skin. When I stated she did not have any injuries and was free of such disfigurements, she responded madly.

"Of course you can't see them, that is just what he wants." She shook her head wildly, her hair swung in the air, the twin braids on either side of her head gently tapped her nose with the motion. "He told me to tell him my fear and then he set the room on fire." She became hysterical. "The man said nobody would believe me! But, it's true, Doc! It happened, the man with the mask said he was only trying to help, but he hurt me!"

As I reached for the panic button that resided in my pocket, she grabbed my wrist and looked at me. A mixture of madness, fear, and sincerity lay in her eyes.

"Don't let them take me back," she begged, tears beginning to flow over. "I don't want to go back to solitary. I don't want to see his mask."

Like I said before, this was a normal day. I received complaints about the cooler on a daily basis. I haven't ever been to that level of Arkham before, so I didn't know how to comfort the patients who were damaged by their time in the secluded rooms.

I had about twenty minutes until my next appointment, so I descended the iron staircase, as the elevator was stalled again, in hopes of finally seeing the cause of my patient's pain. When I was an intern, the area was strictly off limits, but now that I was a fully-fledged doctor, perhaps I could finally visit the cells.

After a long decent I reached the block. I was met with a large iron wrought door and a surprising piece of technology; a scanner requested my I.D. I swiped my card only to hear a loud buzzer deny me access beyond the doors. I heard the shuffling of feet beyond the entrance. Knocking on the iron, I called out to the being. "Hello?" Receiving no answer, I decided to return to my proper place at Arkham, upset with my lack of progress on the case.

I was going through some files in my office when I heard someone knock on my door. Opening it a crack to view the caller, I saw Dr. Crane. His eyes darted around the room, unsure whether or not to look at me directly or at the file cabinet in the far corner.

Opening the door wider, he stepped into my office. "It's good to see you Dr. Crane." I greeted. His look softened and he sat himself on my chair behind the desk. I myself sat cross legged on the wood and listened as he spoke.

"It had come to my attention that you were looking for me earlier," he stated mater-of-factly. I couldn't help but notice how tired he looked as he spoke these words. "Is there something you wish to discuss?"

"I wanted to tell you that I won't talk about anything that happened last night at the party if you are uncomfortable with it." I stroked his cheek now. I referred, of course, to his sudden and out of character displays of affection.

His eyes seemed to regain some spirit. "Of course not. On the contrary, I'm all up for a repeat of last night's endeavors." Leaning forward he kissed me lightly. I wrapped my arms around his neck, seeking a deeper connection, returning the kiss with more force and passion. Jonathan snuck a hand between us and started to discreetly unbutton my lab-coat. His large hands began to stroke my sides, and then he tickled me. I squeaked at the surprising change of events. Jonathan stood from his seat and continued his onslaught. Before I knew it, I had my back against the top of the desk, my body squirming from the torture.

"S-s-stop," I wheezed out. He acquienced to my request and smirked as I regained my breath. "I would not consider that a repeat of last night at all." I pointed out as I leaned up to kiss his nose.

"I agree," Jonathan chortled. "I couldn't even get you into this position last night." My face reddened, finally taking in our position, me laying down on my desk with Jonathan over me with a grin on his lips. It was certainly an improvement on last night's position on the tiny piano bench; far more comfortable for both of us.

"Shut up," I teased. He smirked and did in fact shut up. He pressed his lips against mine and let his hands ghost over my hips running up and down the fabric. One of his hands ventured under my turtle neck and stroked the taut skin that lay over my pelvic bone, letting the calloused fingers trace random patterns on the skin.

He let me catch my breath and brought his lips over to my neck. Pulling back the turtleneck with his spare hand, he nuzzled the area where my neck and shoulder met. He then placed his open mouth over the junction and began to gently bite, nip, and suck on the area. I whimpered in pleasure from the sensation until he took it a step too far.

Running his tongue over the hickey slowly, he let the hand under my shirt rise, his index finger tracing the outline of my bra and running the nail along the border of flesh and fabric.

One of my hands rose to his shoulder and gave a small push. His hand retreated, knowing he had overstepped his bounds. Jonathan's face conveyed his guilt well. I knew he was in the heat of the moment and could have overpowered me in this position with little effort.

"Thanks," I told Jonathan, kissing his cheek.

"It's okay," he said, helping me up from my desk. "I told you I was willing to wait." After I buttoned up my lab coat I gave him a hug, grateful to be with a man like him.

"Which patients are you with today?" I asked Dr. Crane.

"Ah," he began to straighten his own lab coat. "Edward Nigma, which means I have to go past that dreadful Mr. Bolton."

He had told me plenty of times that the head of security would bully him, I actually had to help cheer him up after some of the rants and raves the dreadful man went on, most of which about how Jonathan would never get a girl, well I'll show him! I pulled out a tube of lipstick and began to apply it, pretending to want to just touch up the spread already on my lips. Rather than wait two minutes for it to turn the patented "No Smear!" I pushed the tube back into my pocket and grabbed Dr. Cranes tie hastily. When he got down to my level, I pressed my lips against his passionately, leaving behind a mark that would not be missed.

Jonathan stood still in shock for a moment before mimicking my actions. My hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly at the roots as he placed his own hands on my hips. As our lips seemed to dance with one another, I found myself out of breath. So I pulled back and sprinkled his face in light kisses, my hands running down his lab coat and resting on his solid chest.

My eyes were probably glazed over in lust from the whole ordeal, and he took note of it and attempted something new. I hitched a breath when I felt the doctors hand travel down to my ass before firmly grasping it, but rather than pushing him away, I found myself enjoying it immensely. I leaned forward and kissed his neck before letting out a moan and running my teeth over the skin roughly. Jonathan then got REALY involved in the activity. He pulled his neck away from my lips and kissed me passionately as we resumed our feral battle for dominance in the little display of affection. Before he got the upper hand though, I nipped his lower lip a few times, sucking on the agitated area.

He then pressed me against the door, running his lips down to my neck to hover over the cloth that covered his previously placed hickey. "You are MINE," he grumbled, nipping at the skin through the cloth. I nodded and kissed his cheek gingerly.

After I released Jonathan's hair from my grip I looked at my work. Wrinkled shirt, loose tie, tossed hair, bitten lip, very evident lipstick kisses, and the startings of a hickey on his neck…I guided him out the door and called out at his retreating figure, "Have fun with Monsieur Bolton!"

I was packing up my medical kit and putting some files in my brief case to mull over when my door burst open and bounced off the wall due to the surprising amount of force applied on it. The files fell to the ground and scattered when I dropped the case in shock. I look to my assailant and saw Dr. Crane standing in the doorway.

His face was beet red. I wasn't sure whether it was from anger, embarrassment, or if he had rubbed his face with steel wool to rid himself of the lipstick marks. He pointed at me and then released a held breath before dropping his hand to his side and sitting himself in my desk chair, putting his face in his hands.

"It took five minutes for me to realize." He grumbled behind his fingers. "When I entered the cell block, people applauded me for, and I quote: 'hitting for the home team'." I giggled as he continued, a smile appearing on his face. "Mr. Bolton actually congratulated me and patted me on the back. Nigma, though…," he sighed. "Nigma questioned me about it all throughout our appointment and gave me a lecture on 'the birds and the bees.'"

I threw my head back and held my gut, laughing about the idea of sitting in a room and getting a lecture from a madman on intercourse, especially from a madman who didn't spare the details and was quick to throw in some advice and riddles to keep things 'interesting'. I calmed myself down and got down on my knees to retrieve the fallen files and was joined by Jonathan a few moments later.

"Sorry about that," I giggled as I straightened up the files. "I owe you one." I got back up with his assistance and placed the files neatly into the brief case being sure to shut the clasp and spin the combination lock, folding my lab coat over my arm I began to walk with him out of my office.

Jonathan smirked and nodded, taking note of the debt. I struggled carrying my medical bag, messenger bag, suit case, and lab coat all at once. This caused me to slip in my heels, but Jonathan thankfully caught me before I landed on the floor. The jerk upward caused my messenger bag to tear at the strap and the bag fell from my shoulder; throwing the borrowed psychology books that lay inside onto the floor.

Dr. Crane helped me gather them after I mumbled a "Thank you". As he placed them back in the ruined bag he looked at the titles: "The Workings of The Mind", "Phobias", and "Psychology".

"What's all this?" he asked me in a voice devoid of emotions.

"All my patients from the cooler are having severe nightmares. I need to know what I'm dealing with so I can prescribe proper sleeping medications." I explained as Dr. Crane escorted me to the bus station. He held the bag tightly to his side slowing his pace to match mine.

"That is completely unnecessary Dr. Milenkovic," he told me. I was shocked; he only called me by my title when in a professional setting.

"I've made a lot of progress though," I told him with a smile. "I crosschecked all of the patients that have been in a specific section of solitary and those of optimal health—they all have maskaphobia!" I announced with pride.

As I boarded the bus, Dr. Crane handed me my bag and advised me. "Stay in your own field Dr. Milenkovic. The mind is a very dangerous place."

Despite his recommendations, I resumed my research that very night.

A/N: I understand that favoriteing and following is easy, and though it may bring a smile to my face I would REALLY LOVE some reviews, thoughts on the story, ideas, and everything you want to say even if its as tiny as "LOL Scarecrow isn't getting action anytime soon~ Poor guy". They make my day c:


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